Opened as a workplace for writers and artists, the Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annaghmakerrig has proved its ethos as creative haven works. On the eve of its 21st anniversary, some writers and artists share their memories of the Big House with Rosita Boland
When the Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annaghmakerrig, Co Monaghan, opened 21 years ago, in addition to the celebrations, there was also a certain nervousness. Was it really possible that writers and artists would create work simply because they were in a particular space dedicated to that nebulous-sounding purpose? In short, would Annaghmakerrig work, or would it turn out to be Monaghan's embarrassing white elephant, run mostly at the expense of the arts councils, North and South?
Annaghmakerrig has worked, magically so, and has done so right from the beginning. The house near Newbliss was left by theatre director Tyrone Guthrie to be used as a workplace for writers and artists, if funding could be found. If the arts councils would not support the idea, then Annaghmakerrig was to go to Queens, to be used as a hostel for its students. It's not an overstatement to say that Queens students' loss has been the immeasurable gain of many creative people in Ireland, and of many from abroad.
For 18 years, Annaghmakerrig was run by Bernard and Mary Loughlin, who left in 1999 to live in Spain. The centre is now run by Sheila Pratschke, and she continues to be supported by the remarkable local women who have been there from the beginning, and who run the house with warmth, grace, and confidence. Annaghmakerrig continues to be part-funded by the two arts councils, although their funding has not been increased for three years. Last year, running costs were €386,000, of which €212,000 was covered by arts council funding. They are planning a series of fund-raisers for later this year.
Over the years, hundreds of people have stayed at Annaghmakerrig, either in the Big House, or in the cottages beside it. Some of those who have stayed there include Tom Murphy, Annie Proulx, Ardal O'Hanlon, Leland Bardwell, Dermot Seymour, Sebastian Barry, Mary Lavin, Paul Durcan, Dermot Bolger, Stewart Parker, and Joe O'Connor.
John O'Conor, classical pianist
I WENT for the first time just after it opened, and have been back many times since. I adore it. I don't usually stay longer than two weeks, or it becomes too draining: I do in two weeks at Annaghmakerrig what would usually take me three months. As you drive in, the rest of the world fades behind you. The place gives you an artistic freedom that people are always looking for, and there is always a great mix of people, a mix of the established and those still at the dreaming stage, and everyone is equal. One of my best memories there is of ending up playing poker with Dermot Bolger at 2 a.m. after coming back from the Black Kesh [the infamous local pub, now closed\].
Helen Comerford, visual artist
I DIDN'T go for the first few years it was open; I thought it was only for poor city artists who needed a break from the hectic pace of the city. I live in the country, and I didn't see the point of it until I went there. I just felt totally embraced by the house, and realised the only thing I had to do was work. I had a small toddler at the time, and I think Annaghmakerrig is particularly important for women who run households; the division of what you have to keep in your head goes and there is just you and the studio. I still can't believe how beautifully long the days are there. And all the people you meet there. I realised in Annaghmakerrig that writers go through the same process as visual artists; that work evolves in the same way. One of the best times there, John O'Conor was preparing for a Beethoven concert and we left the kitchen door open so we could all hear this wonderful music coming down the stairs.
Vona Groarke, poet
I went first in 1992 on a bursary from Dublin Corporation. I didn't have a book out then. I remember feeling scared, because by going there, I was making a declaration to be a writer. Going there is the closest you get to feeling rich, living in a house like that. I always go for five days, once a year; short stints where I work intensely, and I always come back with new work. It's a kind of Tír na nÓg for me. Or like going to the seaside, it is always the same, you can always rely on having the same experience each time.
Anne Enright,
novelist
I WENT there first in 1986 for six weeks, when I had nowhere to live. I couldn't believe it when they let me in. My parents drove me there, and we were afraid to speak when we got there, in case we disturbed all the people working. Going there is like being bodily assumed into heaven - the place is so beautiful, the fridge is always full, the amazing dinners, and how clean the place is. If you're a woman, you feel such guilt at letting everything fall apart when you work, but at Annaghmakerrig you are able to live, literally. I was much wilder in the beginning, now I just want to work all the time when I go. It can be very unsettling also, it stirs up all sorts of things; your unconscious goes bananas there, all that silence. No wonder there is a ghost. I've never slept a night in Annaghmakerrig yet without the light on.
Michelle Read, writer and comedy improviser
I WENT first in 1997, when I was writing my second play, and have been back every year since. I usually go well on in a project, when I need to completely separate myself from my day-to-day life. The people who run Annaghmakerrig are amazing; going there feels like going to visit very benign relatives, where everything is homely and comfortable. For me, it's really stimulating talking to people who work in other disciplines. It's isolated, and yet you don't feel alone, you can be as sociable as you want. I'll always remember the singsongs at night, and Redmond O'Hanlon getting Sheila up dancing on the table.
Pat Murphy, film-maker
I had a nervy attitude to the place before I went first in the late 1980s; I was doubtful about the Big House, intimidated by the idea of those dinners. But it is such a supportive, flexible space. It's not one thing that makes it like that, it's a mix of things, it's the people who run it and the people you meet there. The conversations you have there are like the conversations you have travelling; you don't need to see them on a daily basis, but you make an exchange. And you learn so much about what's going on in the arts world there, by talking to people. The place gives you the space to see the value of what you're doing, it lets you focus.
Ger Reidy, poet
I went on a county council bursary [one per year is given in each county\]. I was working full time, farming, 50 cattle to feed and a guesthouse to run. The people I met there made me consider my whole way of working; made me realise that if I wanted to write, I needed to make more space for it in my life. Since then, I have worked a lot more. I call myself a writer now. Most people who go there are anxious to get something completed, and that rubs off on you. The ambience of the place is very special; hospitality is passed on to everyone. The first time, I felt my memory of the place was being formed even as I was there.
Ian Kilroy, playwright
Breaking the round of habit is essential to get some perspective on an artistic project. You get an island of time to focus at Annaghmakerrig. The place works because of its hands-off approach; you are left to your own devices, to get at your work in whatever way you can. Being there is like going on a school tour; you bond with certain people very early on and forge friendships. All adult chores like cooking and cleaning are taken away from you, and it's like being allowed to be a kid again. I explored a lot of south Ulster at 3 a.m. one morning in Conal Creedon's clapped out banger. Last time, Claire Keegan taught me how to tango in the kitchen.
Mary O'Malley, poet
It's an important place, particularly for artists starting off, which is where I was when I went first - I didn't have a book out. I went a lot when my children were younger and I needed space; the fact that you could go through whole days with no one else intruding, just you and the work, was immeasurably valuable. The greatest lasting influence of Annaghmakerrig for me has been the conversations and the other artists I met there; I made several friendships that have lasted. The cover of my new book is by Bridget Flannery, whom I met there.
Fíona Ní Chinnéide, prose writer working on first novel
I went for the first time last year. I had heard so much about it for a long time, it had become a mythical place to me. And I was completely surprised by it, I was amazed at the amount of work I did in that week. I went up there and I realised I can do it, I can write 10 hours a day and be completely happy doing it. It was like someone had written you blank cheque for you to do what you want for that time, and there was a feeling of shared endeavour. As an unpublished writer, the fact that you are trying is appreciated as much by everyone there as if you were published. Dinner creates the structure in the day. You can work all day and then completely let your hair down.
The Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annaghmakerrig, Co Monagahn, is celebrating its 21st anniversary with an Open Day tomorrow. As well as enjoying the beautiful lakeside setting, people can attend concerts and visit a visual art exhibition of work from Annaghmakerrig's own collection. Open 1 p.m.-6 p.m. For information telephone: 047-54003, or e-mail thetgc@indigo.ie. There is a website at www.tyroneguthrie.ie